


Part of the Fire That is Burning

by severinne



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Handcuffs, Jealousy, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-03
Updated: 2010-06-03
Packaged: 2017-10-15 06:10:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/157809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/severinne/pseuds/severinne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gene starts to suspect that Sam might be getting too intimate with Chris.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Part of the Fire That is Burning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Draycevixen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Draycevixen/gifts).



On Wednesday morning, Gene used his key to let himself into Sam’s flat.

Most mornings, Sam was already pacing the pavement outside his building, waiting with hands in pockets and eyebrows arched expectantly. Some mornings, Sam would greet him with some scathing remark about his punctuality; other mornings, Gene would greet him by rolling down the window and blithely asking how much it would cost him for a blowjob. Sam would roll his eyes before climbing into the Cortina, and more often than not would lean over and retort with a suggestion so filthy that it inevitably made Gene’s skin flush hot and his cock grow hard in his trousers.

All in all, it was a good routine.

Except this morning, Sam hadn’t been waiting outside when Gene pulled up to his building. That wasn’t part of their routine, but neither was it unheard of – Sam might have overslept, or lingered overlong in his bath, or gone for another of his mad early-morning jogs…

Gene smiled to himself as he pushed the door open. He liked catching Sam after a jog, skin slick with sweat under his loose-fitting tracksuit, pulse racing fast under Gene’s mouth.

He looked to Sam’s bed first and found it empty with sheets torn back and hanging from the end of the narrow mattress. Tilting his head, Gene moved towards the bathroom next – Sam in the bath wasn’t half-bad either – and caught his foot on something halfway there. More blankets on the floor, a stray cushion, and Sam.

He was still asleep, oblivious in a rat’s nest of spare bedding tangling over his splayed limbs. Soft, barely audible breaths hushed through his parted lips, moved the skin of his exposed throat, rose and fell through to his chest beneath a single careless sheet. Gene shifted his intent gaze further down. The added layer of a blanket was taut over his hips, the shape of Sam’s morning erection unmistakable.

Holding his own breath, Gene stepped closer, loafers treading on the blankets until he was straddling Sam’s prone body. He took his time, savouring the view and the rush of raw possessiveness that swelled in his chest before slowly, carefully lowering himself to his knees. The hem of his coat brushed Sam’s thighs as he balanced himself over sleeping man’s hips but the touch of camelhair failed to rouse him in the slightest; reassured, Gene leaned forward, propping his gloved hands to either side of Sam’s chest. A clutch of mixed scents drew Gene’s head down, closer to his warm body: lingering smells of ambient smoke, stale whiskied breath, musky traces of sweat. When Gene opened his mouth, hovered his lips mere inches from Sam’s throat, he swore he could taste the man beneath him.

Some mornings, Gene wouldn’t drive to Sam’s flat at all. Some mornings, he would already be here, like this.

He took a moment to consider his options, but they were already running late so Gene did what instinct demanded, which was to bite into a prominent tendon in Sam’s neck, laving the skin with his tongue as he felt his partner stir beneath him, moaning softly beneath his mouth.

‘Hhhmmmn…’ Sam murmured sleepily, chin tipping back in unconscious invitation. With a low growl, Gene nibbled further up the column of his throat to his ear.

‘Morning, sweetheart,’ he rasped.

Sam snapped awake beneath him; Gene could feel the tension click back into his limbs, the unmistakable electricity of freshly squeezed Tyler. ‘Gene,’ he said blankly, eyes wide and flicking past him to search around his tiny flat. ‘What time is it?’

‘Just gone half eight.’ Gene ducked his head again, in no rush to get to the office but plenty eager for another taste of Sam’s sleep-warm skin, but Sam bucked and twisted beneath him, expertly pushing Gene away as he sprang from the twisted mess of his bedding. His lithe body scrambled away, clad in nought but pants and vest, sleep-slow gaze lingering for several beats over his narrow and rumpled bed.

‘Shit, sorry… be ready in a bit, just need a quick wash first…’ His rambling voice trailed off as the rattling accordion door to the loo snaked shut.

Gene frowned down at the cooling blankets around his knees, listened to the water run in the bathroom, and began to think.

  


* * *

They drove to the station in relative silence made comfortably easy by the low murmur of music on the radio. Sam was still fuzzy around the edges and, having long lost that strange habit of thumbing the tuner knob like a child with a shiny new toy, limited his end of the conversation to a mumbled craving for a bacon buttie.

That quiet was part of the routine too, yet it gnawed at Gene’s gut like a parasite.

The ride in the lift lacked even that much idle chatter, what with Sam’s pouty lips pinched shut with exhaustion, his eyes narrowed vaguely on the pokey bit of plastic exposed where some daft sod had long since broken off the fifth floor button. As with many mornings, Gene slipped a casual hand up beneath the hem of his leather coat while the lift lurched upward, resting his palm against the pert curve of Sam’s arse. Some mornings, this got him a roll of the eyes; others, a knowing smirk. Some rare, bloody fantastic mornings, it got him a hell of a lot more.

This morning, Sam twitched his nose and shifted his shoulders.

Ever an optimist, Gene still gave his arse an affectionate pat before the doors dragged open but kept his lips tightly sealed as they entered CID. They simultaneously shoved in the double doors with a natural sync that was almost reassuring if not for the beeline Sam steered straight for his desk, dropping into his chair and frowned balefully at the files on his desk, looking like a man in desperate need of a cuppa.

Gene sniffed moodily, and snatched up Ray’s newspaper on his way to his office. If the frigid bugger wanted tea, he would just have to ask the plonk to help him out.

Speaking of… he frowned as he flipped absently through the sports section, slowing mid-stride to a stop. Tea sounded good, and his eyes flicked up in faint hopes of spotting Annie – yes, fine detective, he knew, but she also made the best cuppa of anyone on his team, and always knew where the canteen ladies kept the Garibaldis. Very fine detective.

Very fine indeed, but nowhere to be found. Disappointed, he returned his attention to the football results.

‘Um, Boss?’

‘Chris.’

Gene flicked down the corner of his newspaper and squinted across the office. Chris was hovering by Sam’s desk, clutching a cup and saucer with both hands.

‘Just… ah, wanted to say, y’know, thanks again. For last night, like. Had a great time.’ His mouth hung open for a pause, then Chris set the tea on Sam’s desk with a loud clatter. Judging from the mournful twist of Sam’s mouth, Gene reckoned some of the tea might have sloshed onto his files.

‘Um, cheers.’ Sam gingerly shifted the saucer, but glanced up at Chris with a warm smile. ‘Was pretty good last night, wasn’t it?’

The paper crumpled in Gene’s hands.

Chris’ head bobbed enthusiastically. ‘Oh, aye, it was bloody fantastic, that was.’

‘Oy, Christopher!’

Chris jumped, his long fringe flopping into his eyes as he stared around, comically wide-eyed. Behind him, still seated at his desk, Sam threw him a weary frown.

‘Guv?’

‘Mine’s milk and three sugars, hop to it.’ He messily refolded the paper and threw it back in the general direction of Ray’s desk. ‘And see about some Garibaldis while you’re at it.’

He ignored the scurry of Chris retreating safely away, all his attention fixed on Sam as he sauntered back across the room. The cup of tea sat at a safer distance from his precious paperwork, both going equally neglected as Sam tiredly rolled his head back, smooth throat stretched graceful and long above the open neck of his shirt.

‘Tired?’

‘Mmn…?’ Sam blinked up at him blearily, caught mid-stretch, his torso arching in his chair. Forcing his eyes to track back up to Sam’s face, Gene perched on the edge of his desk, leaning in closer to speak.

‘Don’t go nodding off on me there, Gladys.’

Sam gave his head a shake and straightened upright in his chair, a rueful smile flickering briefly over his lips. ‘Sorry, Guv,’ and Gene repressed a twinge of surprise at his easy apology, virtually unprecedented, ‘didn’t get much sleep last night.’

‘No wonder, sleeping on the ruddy floor like that.’ He pitched his voice softer, casting a cautious eye around CID before continuing. ‘Don’t you reckon it’s high time you bought a bed you can stand spending the night in?’

Something in Sam’s languid exhaustion stiffened and sharpened. ‘Don’t see the point,’ he mumbled.

‘I see a huge bloody point if it means you’re not sitting ‘round my station looking like Boris bloody Karloff.’ Gene crossed his arms gruffly to mask his concern from the other detectives slowly drifting to their desks. ‘Hell, three years on, I reckon you could’ve got a much nicer flat and all. That dank hole of yours is looking shittier by the day.’

Sam shrugged and hunched forward in his chair, reaching for a pen and pulling some folders closer. ‘Y’know why I haven’t.’ His lips barely moved over the bitter retort.

An uncomfortable prickling sensation crept up Gene’s neck; he hoped to hell he wasn’t blushing. ‘And you know why you can’t go moving in with me,’ he hissed back through clenched teeth.

A mean little laugh chuckled from Sam’s sneering mouth. ‘Right,’ he scoffed dismissively. ’I’ll wait until you’re ready, then, shall I?’ Sam’s hands shook as they rearranged the folders into another neat pile, betraying a genuine hurt beneath the angry front and breaking off another sliver of Gene’s wavering resolve but he soldiered bravely on.

‘Be a bloody grown-up about this, Tyler,’ Gene snapped back. ‘You can’t wait forever, can you?’

Those workmanlike hands faltered, went still as Gene had never seen them do before. Sam’s silence held long enough for Gene to shift uncomfortably, regretfully, before Sam’s eyes flicked upward through his lashes, gleaming and withdrawn.

‘No,’ Sam agreed dully. ‘No, I guess I can’t.’

And he was alive again, out of his chair before Gene could register his sudden movement, files tucked under his arm, all slender legs carrying him off across CID.

‘Chris,’ he called briskly. ‘You’re with me. Collator’s.’

Gene’s head snapped around, just in time to balance the steaming mug that the magically reappearing Chris shoved into his hands before racing off again in Sam’s cold, precise wake.

Scowling after them, he took a sip of his tea. Daft bugger had forgotten his sugar, and the milky dregs tasted like shite besides.

He set the tea down next to Sam’s abandoned cup and saucer and retreated into his office. At least until Sam was back, he needed more time to think.

With nought but a couple stupid blaggers to fill the day, time had crawled its way on to near beer o’clock by the time Sam resurfaced from the Collator’s Den, trailed by a distinctly ruffled Chris. The younger lad barely paused to collect his jacket before he was gone again, chasing after the rest of the departing team; Sam hovered over his desk, organizing yet another batch of files into ever more obscure stacks.

‘Pub?’ Gene called casually, folding himself into his coat as he crossed CID to Sam’s desk.

‘Got lots of work here.’

‘Can wait until tomorrow. C’mon.’ He plucked Sam’s leather jacket from the back of his chair, his mind rolling into images of him helping Sam into his jacket before he stifled the urge. Instead, he shoved the leather into Sam’s arms, forcing him to take hold of it or else let it drop to the dirty floor. ‘Got our darts match against B-Division tonight, and I need to get some practice rounds in first.’

A look of brittle impatience crossed Sam’s face, but otherwise he didn’t protest as he shrugged into his jacket. Still standing so close, Sam brushed lightly against Gene’s arm; he breathed deep, caught the musty damp of old filing and an acidic burst of Hai Karate masking Sam’s usual clean scent.

‘Bloody hell, Tyler, you stink.’ He threw it out casually, patting down his pockets to check for wallet and keys and only peripherally catching Sam’s scathing glare.

‘No more than you do,’ he snapped, but there was no fire in it. If anything, Sam looked even more tired now than he had been that morning, his swagger gone slack and shadowed eyes shifting aimlessly about. ‘Might just head straight home, Guv,’ he said pointedly. ‘Been a long day, and I’m knackered.’

‘Can’t have been that knackering without me around to wear you out, now can it?’ Gene landed a light smack on Sam’s arse after a last quick glance around the empty office. ‘C’mon. Pub first, then we can see about tiring you out proper-like.’

Sam opened his mouth as though to spit out a blistering reply, then collapsed back into himself with a futile shake of the head. ‘Right,’ he sighed. ‘Pub.’

‘Good man.’ Gene gestured falsely-grand ahead, refusing to jump ahead to hold the door open for Sam. This was only a small victory, for now.

  


* * *

Though Gene felt he could safely risk a steering hand on Sam’s shoulder as they shouldered through the door – a hand whose thumb brushed the nape of his neck beneath the leather collar of his coat – he had the sense to let it drop once they drew up to Nelson’s smiling presence, the weight of the pub’s other patrons already itching at Gene’s back.

‘Two pints of bitter and two whisky chasers, ta.’

As Nelson set down two drams of whisky and turned to pull their pints, Gene shot a significant sideways look at Sam, making a show of opening his wallet and checking for a reaction to the unspoken apology. Lips tight, Sam returned his prolonged stare with a fleeting scowl before snatching up his scotch and swallowing it down in one.

The hard bang of the glass on the bar was all the answer Gene needed.

Withholding a pained wince, Gene stiffened his shoulders and dropped his money on the bar. ‘And another scotch for Gladys here,’ he muttered to Nelson before glancing around to sight the lads for practice. If Sam wanted to sulk, that was his business. He’d find a way to make it up to the miserable tosser later.

‘Ready, Guv?’ Ray waved him over to the dartboard, and Gene picked up his beer before striding over to join his team for practice rounds. Chris squeezed past him between two stray chairs as he crossed the room, and Gene felt his jaw tense when his backward glance sighted the young DC sidling up to the bar alongside Sam.

Ray slapped the darts into his numb hand. ‘Your go.’

Setting down his pint and shrugging the tension from his shoulders, Gene hoisted the first dart and took aim, squinting down the triple twenty.

Behind him, Sam laughed – a low, whisky-warm sound.

Next to him, Ray winced. ‘Bit shaky, Guv?’

Gene glared at the dart where it quivered in the wall, a good three inches left of the board.

He kept glaring, hard, until the quivering stopped.

‘Nah,’ he answered breezily, poising the second dart between steady fingers. ‘Just getting warmed up, Raymondo.’

In the hard silence of his restored calm, the dart flew cleanly forward, landed firmly for twenty points if not the triple. He fixed that on the third, and let the sycophantic cheers of his men drown out any lingering notes of Chris’ happy-go-lucky chatter, of Sam’s easy laughter.

By the time B Division tipped up for the match, Gene was more than ready to kick their collective arses clear off the Lancashire Constabulary league table. Rage redirected could be damn wonderful thing, and Gene channeled every inexpressible ounce of his frustration into his game, racking up points and hollowing out any hint of Sam’s voice and laughter in the background.

He did such a good job of it that his team was thirty-four points up and nearing victory before Gene realized that Sam was completely and utterly shitfaced.

Sam being a mopey bastard of a drunk, Gene didn’t notice anything amiss until he deigned to help Ray with the latest round of pints and his eye tripped over Sam’s slender shape, slumped and smoldering at the corner of the bar, bleary eyes squinting after him as he shuffled back to the dart board.

Usually, he loved the way Sam narrowed his eyes, loved the heat and the hint of danger. But sodden with drink, that look made anxiety twist tighter in his gut until there was little else left for it but to circle back, his fresh pint clutched in his hand for courage.

‘Alright there, Sammy-boy?’ he called out, keeping a safe distance but close enough to see the drunken flush in Sam’s cheeks, attentive enough to read the sneer curling his lips.

‘The hell I am,’ he muttered, brittle with accusation that came out slow and deliberate from his slurring lips. Gene’s eyes flicked down to the half-empty scotch in Sam’s hand.

‘Well, can’t be for lack of drink from the looks of it,’ he observed wryly. ‘Ain’t like it’s going out of style tomorrow, y’know.’

Sam snorted. ‘As if you would know.’

‘So what’s got your knickers in a twist then?’ Gene ignored Sam’s remark, pressing impatiently forward. It would be his turn with the darts any minute now. ‘Anything I _would_ know about, brainbox?’

‘Anything you would…?’ An ugly little laugh spilled sloppily from Sam’s lips, and Gene set down his pint and reached instinctively for his partner’s lithe body as he wobbled alarmingly off his stool. Beneath his hands, Sam’s shoulders tensed and jerked with a sullen sort of unsteadiness. ‘No, Gene, guess you don’t have a bloody clue, d’you… dunno what I had to do to come back to you…’

Even with his words blurring together and trailing off into long-drawn vowels, Gene stiffened uncomfortably.

‘And I don’t mean _Hyde_ either, y’know,’ Sam added meaningfully, eyes maliciously bright. ‘So far away… s’where I came back from…’

Gene cautiously let his hands drop from Sam’s drooping shoulders, eyes frantically scanning the pub. Rollins from B Division was lining up a shot, which meant his was coming up, and Gene grit his teeth, caught between letting Sam stew in his own whisky-drenched juices and the nagging concern that had him desperate to take the poor sod back to his flat and tuck him into bed.

‘Wanted this to be home, Gene…’ Without Gene’s hands bracing him upright, Sam slumped back with his elbows on the bar, head lolling on his long neck. ‘Just want… home…’

‘S’alright, Guv, I’ll see him home.’

Gene blinked, spinning around and catching an eyeful of Chris’ boyish, over-earnest face. ‘You what?’

‘Guv!’ Ray’s voice called out to him from the dart board. ‘You’re up!’

‘I can take him home, like,’ Chris repeated with the cheerfulness of a few extra pints in his own belly, but the lad was steady on his feet and speaking in full sentences which should have come as a relief compared to Sam’s sorry state but Gene only tensed even further.

‘You know where that is?’ he asked sharply.

‘Sure, no sweat.’ Chris grinned in a daft way that was no doubt meant to be reassuring. ‘Was just there last night.’

‘Guv!’

He turned on his heel; Ray was beckoning more urgently now. Gene squinted at the latest tally on the chalkboard, and groaned inwardly.

‘Fine,’ he muttered, retrieving his pint and even managing to land a companionable slap on Chris’ back. ‘There’s a good lad. Don’t let DI Tyler here give you any trouble.’

With a regretful glance at Sam, Gene retreated back to his game before Chris could respond with any more sodding cheerfulness, before Sam could blink out of his confusion long enough to ask him any more questions about _home._ The pair of them didn’t waste any time either, and Gene half-watched Chris guide Sam out the door with an arm around his trim waist while he weighted his darts in the palm of his hand.

Gene hated losing. Yet even as he opened his wallet to buy the obligatory round for the victorious boys of B Division, he couldn’t quite bring himself to give a shit.

  


* * *

On Thursday morning, Gene drove to work alone.

His department was far too quiet without the excessive bluster of Sam’s early-morning routine buzzing about him like a honeybee, and downright deathly with the absence of any of his team. Gene had arrived far too early after a restless night spent tossing and turning in his former marital bed; the damn thing was far too big for even a proper-sized specimen of manhood such as himself, and shite for any sort of proper sleep.

Just as he had done in the blurry dark of the night before, Gene had steered the Cortina past Sam’s flat by instinct if nothing else, had watched the first light of morning rising over the crumbling bricks of his building, turning his two windows opaque with the hardening glare of sunrise. He hadn’t had the nerve to break down his door last night and he sure as shit wasn’t going to come crawling this morning either.

The razor dragged across his cheek, under his jaw, up to his chin, old familiar patterns on an old familiar face. An old, not especially attractive face, if Gene was being brutally honest with himself, and he craved honesty now like he craved the first drink of the day.

He wearily stripped away the last spot of shaving foam from his upper lip and let the razor drop to his desk with a lazy clatter while he continued to stare himself down in the small magnifying mirror. No shave was clean enough to smooth the cragginess from his skin, the pockmarks and the slight ruddiness in his cheeks. His thin lips tightened, another bland feature on a face that was unexceptional at best. The ex-missus had once said she rather fancied his green eyes, but only the once, in the tipsy aftermath of their tenth wedding anniversary.

One drunken compliment, compared to the countless times Sam had stroked his hair and pronounced him gorgeous in a reverent whisper. But usually when they were shagging, so it didn’t really count.

Sam showed up just as Gene was sweeping his shaving kit into the desk drawer, slipping in among the other late detectives with none of his usual energy. Only by watching closely through the knackered blinds did Gene see his tired, pallid face turn furtively towards his office before Sam sank down behind his own desk, curling into himself like a man with a hangover, or a guilty conscience, or both.

Bloody fair enough. Gene lit a cigarette, took his time smoking it down to the filter and pecking at yesterday’s crossword laid open on his desk – he got _covet_ , _Troy_ and _Desdemona_ filled in soon enough – before rising to his feet with a luxurious stretch and stalking out to survey his men.

His attentions immediately fixed themselves upon Sam, already recovered from his sullen sulk and distributing case notes to the gathered detectives, many of whom now appeared every bit as disgruntled as Sam himself had looked first thing this morning. Gene drew up alongside him just as he sent Geoff and Clive away from their desks with the brisk clip of men eager to get the hell away from their DI.

‘And just where do you think you’re sending my men, Tyler?’ He grabbed the last report from Sam’s hands and flipped it open, catching the name of one of yesterday’s collars before Sam snatched it back with an irritable scowl.

‘I’m sending them to do their bloody jobs,’ he replied tersely. ‘We had two separate robberies yesterday and I want those cases cleared out before they add to our already impressive backlog of unfiled reports, if you don’t mind.’ Without waiting to hear whether Gene did in fact mind this fussiness, Sam turned to Ray where he sat perched on the edge of Chris’ desk. ‘You two’ve got Kevin Rand, looks pretty open and shut but–’

‘Wait, hold up.’ Gene snatched the file again as Sam extended it out to Ray. ‘Kevin Rand. Weren’t he that big bastard we picked up for assault some six month back?’

‘Aye,’ Ray agreed, ‘I remember that one.’

‘So do I.’ Sam forcibly yanked the folder from his hands. ‘He was also innocent.’

‘Excuse me, Gladys, but if Rand’s your idea of innocent that makes you, what? The ruddy sugar plum fairy?’ With a snort, Gene took the file back, flipped it open again. ‘Y’know what, Raymondo, I think I smell a repeat offender. Just need a confession to go with.’

Sam groaned, rubbed the bridge of his nose. ‘If you’re suggesting…’

‘I don’t _suggest_ squat, Tyler.’ Triumphant, Gene snapped the folder shut. ‘I’m saying we hold Rand up by the ankles like a piggy bank and keep shaking him for every tuppence he’s worth. Might have enough previous to buy you that shiny new tricycle you always wanted.’

‘Don’t get me tangled up with your lousy similes, Guv.’

‘Funny, thought that second bit was more like a metaphor.’ Gene gave him a friendly slap with the side of Rand’s file. ‘So, you coming or what?’

‘Look,’ Sam sighed, disdainfully slapping the folder away. ‘If you and Ray feel the desperate need to give someone a good kicking, have at it. But if Rand’s got form, we should be pulling the old case files. Chris and I could–’

If there was a moment to be found between Gene’s affable mood and the sudden onset of anger bleeding into his vision, he never saw it. All he knew was that the twist of Sam’s leather jacket bunching in his fist felt exactly right, that it and the flare of something hot and panicked bursting the cold front of Sam’s eyes was exactly what he needed.

‘You want paperwork?’ he growled. ‘Fine.’ He threw the file sideways towards Ray and Chris, uncaring as it hit the floor instead. ‘Ray. Chris. Collator’s. _Now._ ’

Without waiting to see his orders carried out – he really didn’t give a toss so long as they stayed the hell away – Gene dragged Sam across the office, out the doors and down the hall, breath seething and blood racing as he felt Sam struggle to push him off.

‘Damn it, Guv, what the hell? If you wanted to question Rand that badly…’ Sam’s angered voice trailed off as Gene paused to kick in the door to Lost and Found. ‘Aren’t you going to, I don’t know, get Rand from his cell?’

‘No.’ Snarling, Gene dragged Sam into the darkest corner of the room and threw him into the shelves, hard enough to make their contents shift alarmingly. Several things fell to the dirty floor: a rusted tin box, a cheap plastic clock, a ridiculously posh teddy bear with suspiciously matted fur. Gene kicked the bear aside as he advanced on Sam, pinned him to the shelves before he could retaliate.

‘Now you listen to me, you coy little prick,’ he spat. ‘Whatever the hell it is you’ve got going on with Chris on the side, I can deal with that shit if I have to. I don’t _care_ ,’ he lied scathingly, temper rising as the words spilled out. ‘But if that’s how it is, then stop being such a cowardly little shit and just _admit it_ already.’

‘What the…’ Sam jerked beneath his hands, scowled when Gene’s hands gouging his shoulders didn’t relent in the slightest. ‘What the hell are you on about?’

‘You and DC Skelton, getting all cozy with each other,’ he accused, finally daring to speak his creeping suspicion out loud. ‘Cuddling over drinks, sneaking off to Collator’s together and you coming back stinking of his cheap aftershave.’ He slammed Sam into the shelves again, temper flaring at the blank disbelief in his partner’s face. ‘And I know full well he was over at yours two nights ago, so _don’t_ go pretending like I’m making this all up.’

‘Two nights ago?’ Sam frowned thoughtfully, then his eyes widened. ‘Oh, yeah, he was, actually. Yeah, that was–’

‘Bloody _knew it_.’ With a growl of disgust, Gene shoved himself out of Sam’s personal space, only distantly gratified to hear Sam’s soft grunt as the shelves rattled again. ‘You cheap, dirty little…’

‘You do _not_ want to finish that sentence, Gene.’

The steely anger in Sam’s voice pulled him up short, left his mouth gaping pointlessly for an awkward pause before he gathered his wits again. ‘Then you better start talking.’

Glowering, Sam reached into his back pocket and plucked out his wallet with a defiant snap of his wrist. Gene stared at his hands, remembered the first time he had seen Sam making these same motions three years ago, when they had placed that wager on Ted Bannister and that whole business at the textile mill, back when Sam was new and his temper invariably ran hot.

This fire, now, was so similar to the way they had burned back then.

A ticket stub was shoved into Gene’s face, snapping him out of his reminiscences. He squinted down at it in the dim light of the room, frowned his confusion at what he saw.

‘And what the bloody hell is T. Rex?’

‘Exactly.’ Sam stuffed the ticket back into his wallet, fuming as he shoved it away in his tight trousers’ back pocket. ‘You don’t know, and you don’t care. But Chris was keen to see them, so I asked him along.’

‘Keen for dinosaurs, or keen to get in your pants?’

‘We were at a _concert_ ,’ Sam corrected, slow and emphatic like Gene were an especially slow deaf-mute. ‘And don’t give me this shit, I asked you to go with but you were having none of it as usual–’

Gene narrowed his eyes. ‘When the hell was that?’

‘Last bloody week!’

‘No, you didn’t.’

‘Yes. I did.’

‘Didn’t.’

‘Did… oh, for fuck’s sake.’ Scrubbing a hand through his short hair, Sam glanced away, then back towards Gene with a more subdued, sincere openness in his eyes. ‘Look, Chris and I… there’s nothing like that going on, Gene. We went to the show together and he crashed at mine because he was bladdered and didn’t want to wake up his mum coming in that late, alright?’

Gene’s eyes narrowed. ‘He slept over at yours?’

‘Nothing. Happened.’ Sam sighed. ‘I wouldn’t do that to you, Gene.’

‘That so?’ Part of Gene’s panic eased in the calm of Sam’s soft earnestness. He stared down the length of Sam’s lean body slouching back against the shelves, lips pressed tight with uncertainty.

‘Yeah, ‘course.’ Sam smiled tentatively up at him, and he was so self-assured and so goddamn gorgeous in that moment that it made Gene’s chest ache.

‘Can’t say that for Chris, though, can you?’ he challenged. ‘Bet he fancies the shit out of you.’

Sam snorted. ‘Oh, c’mon, I don’t even think he likes blokes.’

Gene bristled defensively. ‘What, and I do?’

Sam raised his eyebrows.

‘Right, then.’ Gene nodded, cracked his knuckles. ‘You wait here.’

‘What?’ As he spun on his heel and walked away, Gene could hear Sam scrambling to catch up to him. ‘Where do you think you’re going?’

‘Just need a quick word with DC Skelton.’

‘Oh, no, you don’t.’ A hand snagged his arm, but Gene shrugged it off with the indifference of the single-minded bastard he was.

‘Yes, I really do.’

‘Gene, I don’t think that’s a good idea…’

A second spark of suspicion glanced off Gene’s radar. ‘Y’know, suddenly sounds like a bloody fantastic idea to me.’

‘Damn it, don’t be daft.’ Sam was always the faster of the two of them, and swiftly cut him off halfway to the door, repelling him backward with a hard shove to the chest. ‘Leave Chris out of it.’

Gene skidded back on the heels of his loafers, his chest throbbing with the impact of Sam’s none-too-gentle hands ramming into him. Despite the gravity of the situation, he grinned his enjoyment, flexed his hands in anticipation as he drew forward again.

It had been too long since they had found cause to fight it out like this. And God help him, but he damn well _loved it._

He swept out of Lost and Found some five minutes later, knuckles aching in triumph, eyes scanning the corridor as he idly tongued the bleeding split on the inside of his lip. As his ever-increasing luck would have it, Chris came traipsing around the corner a moment later, arms clumsy around a stack of dusty box files.

‘Chris.’ Gene kept walking towards his office. ‘A word.’

He didn’t bother looking back, could hear Chris’ scurrying footfalls trailing him across CID, the messy pause of the files hitting a desk before he followed Gene through the door. Gene clenched and unclenched his fists, breathing hard through his nose and willing the lingering edge of his fight-fueled erection to calm down before turning to stare down the upstart little prick.

‘Are you having it off with DI Tyler?’ he growled.

Chris fell over.

For a moment, Gene was stunned, unsure of how the lad had managed to trip over his own feet whilst standing still, but a louder, angrier voice snatched up the blunder and painted it with guilt. ‘Well?’ he snapped, stepping forward to loom over Chris. ‘Let’s have it then, why don’t you tell me all the dirty details of your little date?’

‘Wha…’ Chris shuffled backward on his arse, reaching aimlessly backward for a handhold on the filing cabinet. ‘I haven’t been on any dates, Guv…’

‘Oh, so you forgot all about catching a show and drinks with your DI, did you? What’s wrong, Skelton, so many pints that you sicked up all over the poor bugger whilst trying to work your way downstairs-inside?’ His glower deepened as Chris’ mouth moved soundlessly, words failing to drop from his stuck tongue. ‘ _Well_?’

Chris blinked up at him from beneath his flopping fringe of hair. ‘But… but the Boss is a bloke.’

‘Yeah, noticed that, did you? Probably whilst you were busy getting your hands down his knickers, right?’

‘He… er, he’s a _bloke_.’

Gene squinted suspiciously. Could be the boy was putting on one hell of a daft act, except that Gene knew full well that daftness was never an act where Chris was concerned. Fact was, young DC Skelton was the most guileless bugger he knew – made him a frustration of a copper at times, but a hell of a good lad, really.

‘Right,’ he grunted finally, watching through narrowed eyes as Chris finally regained his legs, clambering upright like a newborn colt. ‘So you and Tyler…’

‘Well…’ Chris tugged at his sweater vest, frowning at some point past Gene’s shoulder. ‘We went to see T. Rex the other night, and I met this really nice Scottish bird at the coat check… that what you mean, Guv?’

Gene blinked twice, then shook his head. ‘Uh, sure.’ He clapped Chris bracingly on the shoulder as he made for the door. ‘Yeah, good on you, my son.’

As he made his brisk way back to the Lost and Found, the indignant jealousy eased away to the beginnings of a heated satisfaction. Of course he had nothing to worry about – Chris was just a hapless pup of a lad, after all. Nothing there that his Sam would prefer when compared to the Gene Genie.

Swagger restored, Gene shouldered his way into the Lost and Found, pausing to click the lock into place – if his luck held, he might need the added privacy very shortly. Then again, the fierce scowl Sam aimed at him from across the room made him briefly reconsider, even as he openly admired the line of his body slouched petulantly in the far corner where Gene had cuffed his wrists to the shelves behind his back.

Okay. It had been an extreme measure, but Sam wasn’t letting him go talk to Chris without a fight.

And to be honest, seeing Sam in handcuffs always gave him the horn.

‘Alright, Einstein, you were right,’ he greeted generously. ‘Pretty bloody obvious that young Skelton out there wouldn’t know your arse from a hole in the ground.’

‘Told you so.’

‘Now, now,’ he chided, glancing appraisingly down Sam’s tensed body in the dim light. ‘No need to be a bloody child about it. I was gonna make it up to you and all.’

Sam punched him in the jaw.

Reeling, Gene stumbled backward, blinking away stars and staring in disbelief at the loose cuff dangling bright from Sam’s wrist, swinging as he charged forward and knocked him to the ground in a whirlwind of legs and leather. He threw up a shielding arm to fend off a flying fist, retaliated with a left-hand cross that Sam caught in a firm grip and pinned down to the ground, seemingly indifferent to Gene’s powerful forearm bracing against his chest as he leaned in close, amber-dark eyes harsh and gleaming.

‘Are you completely off your head?’ Sam snapped.

‘You’re one to talk, Sammy-boy,’ he snorted, shoving hard with his arm and grunting when Sam forced it down to the hard cement floor.

‘I can’t believe you,’ he continued, panting hard with the effort of holding Gene down. ‘Did it even occur to you that anyone could have walked in and found me like that?’

‘Yeah, well…’ Gene shifted his gaze sideways, choking down another fresh surge of possessive anger. ‘Looks like you’d have sorted yourself out fine anyway,’ he countered, squinting back up into Sam’s livid face. ‘How’d you do that anyway, Houdini?’

‘Lots of rubbish on those shelves. Not sure what I used, felt like a hairpin.’ A sly smile tugged the corner of Sam’s mouth. ‘Got that trick off my DCI a few years back. Thinks he’s dead clever, but he’s really a bit of a bastard.’

Sam shifted his weight straddling Gene’s body, thighs digging tight against his hips. ‘Don’t you mean “abso-bloody-lutely gorgeous bastard”?’ he asked gruffly, hopefully.

A short burst of laughter broke through Sam’s stern front, his grip relaxing as he leaned incredulously backward. ‘Let’s not forget boorish, stubborn, irrationally jealous and downright over-possessive–’

Fed up with talk, Gene shut Sam’s mouth the best way he knew how, wrenching a hand out of Sam’s relaxed grasp and dragging him down into a fierce kiss, growling deep in his chest when Sam’s lips parted wide for him after only a few seconds’ resistance. He kept his fingers clamped hard around the back of Sam’s smooth neck as his tongue messily claimed every contour of Sam’s mouth, wishing he had his other hand free to explore the lithe stretch of Sam’s body over his own but Sam had tightened his grip of Gene’s other wrist as they kissed, either a claim of his own or a warning that he wasn’t fully forgiven.

‘Can’t help being a bit possessive where you’re concerned,’ he admitted hoarsely, dragging his lips down beneath Sam’s chin, wrenching his head back to get at that spot alongside his jugular that inevitably made Sam moan like a prossie, low and loose and setting him writhing over Gene’s hips. ‘Can’t help wanting you all to myself, no matter how many horny buggers come sniffing ‘round after you.’

Sam gasped sharply as Gene’s teeth nipped his throat. ‘Gene,’ he said, breathing satisfyingly hard and fast. ‘Listen… if you were that worried, you… _ah…_ you know you could’ve just talked to me…’

Gene groaned in mingled arousal and impatience, fingers snaring tighter around Sam’s neck. ‘Why talk about it when I can do this instead?’ With a hard push of his hips, Gene grappled Sam and flipped them over, regaining both his hands and working fast at the buttons of Sam’s shirt, biting and licking at his throat and further down. Sam groaned and bucked beneath him, clever hands pushing into his jacket and shoving it down his shoulders. Gene pulled back long enough to help shrug his jacket off and throw it aside before diving back in again, splaying Sam’s shirt wide and pushing up the vest beneath, bowing his head to taste warm skin, just as he had craved to do yesterday morning, every morning.

‘Still want me to talk to you, Sam?’ He muttered the question into Sam’s heaving sternum just beneath his bunched-up vest, already reaching down to fumble his way into Sam’s too-tight trousers. ‘Want me to tell you how I’m gonna take every damn gorgeous inch of you, right here and now?’

‘Damn, Gene…’ Sam threaded his fingers through Gene’s hair, thrusting his hips up into Gene’s hands. The stray handcuff hanging from his wrist brushed cold over his cheek, making him pause and glance slowly upward, the feral spark of an idea heating him straight down to his cock.

‘Gene…?’ A note of uncertainty edged into Sam’s voice as Gene caught the open cuff in his fingers. ‘What’re you… oh, shit, you’re not…’ Sam struggled hard, managed a couple swift jabs with his knees and damn, the little bugger had a hell of a sharp elbow but Gene successfully wrestled him face-down on the floor, releasing a soft groan as he swiftly cuffed Sam’s wrists together behind his back.

‘Mine.’ He bit the declaration into the flushed nape of Sam’s neck, a hand lingering possessively over Sam’s chained hands, rubbing off on the full length of his body like an addict. His other hand scrambled for a grip on Sam’s short hair, tugging his head up and around until he could claim his panting mouth in a clumsy kiss, more tongues than lips. ‘S’all mine,’ he repeated, ‘and I’m gonna make you bloody well scream it before I’m done with you…’

Sam moaned, though his lips pulled back into a shaky smirk. ‘Like to see you try,’ he taunted breathlessly.

With a warning growl, Gene snapped back in and bit his full lower lip, worrying the soft flesh with his teeth until Sam whined softly in protest. He slid his hungry mouth over the faint stubble coursing Sam’s jaw, laid another sharp bite to his earlobe before working his way down his neck again, hands tugging insistently at his unbuttoned shirt to expose his nape, his shoulder, any flesh he could reach with lips and teeth and tongue. The tangled mess of Sam’s shirt around his bound arms brought him short so Gene crawled further down, tasting the repeating curves of his ribcage and following them around Sam’s squirming torso as he gripped him hard in both hands, forced him to turn onto his back. Sam writhed awkwardly into position, eyes glassy with lust, legs bending and spreading apart beneath his hands.

Gene dropped down between Sam’s thighs, kneading hard muscle through tight denim while his mouth continued to claim bared skin, chasing down every well-studied nerve ending guaranteed to fire Sam’s arousal, biting and suckling with full intent of proving his familiarity, his right to this body. He knew better than anyone how to tongue over Sam’s nipples until they pebbled to hardness, knew how much harder he had to scrape his teeth over that particular jut of his hipbone, bloody near breaking skin before Sam cried out, arching beneath his mouth and hands.

‘More,’ he panted, bracing his hips off the hard floor, pushing his constrained erection into Gene’s face. ‘Need more… fuck, your mouth…’

‘Greedy tart.’ Gene cradled his tensed arse in one splayed hand, the other making quick work of Sam’s flies and pants. He used both hands to tug the tight fabric down to his thighs, grinning at Sam’s sharp hiss as his cock bobbed free. ‘Enjoying yourself, are you?’

‘Be enjoying it a lot more if you got your mouth on my dick,’ Sam gritted out. Gene’s smirk widened.

‘But look how hard you already are…’ He caught Sam’s flushed cock in a loose grip, appreciating the fullness and heat of him in his hand. ‘Just from getting tied up and manhandled on the dirty floor… you fucking love it, don’t you?’

Sam whined sharply, thrusting uselessly into Gene’s inadequate grip. ‘Damn it, Gene…’

‘Answer me.’

‘Fuck… yeah, yes, I love it, now _please_ …’

He rewarded Sam immediately, cutting off his pleading with the hot suction of his mouth around Sam’s needy cock. From the first drag of the flat of his tongue against the underside of his shaft, Sam lost all control of words, reduced to faint moans and tiny gasps that Gene ruthlessly worked up to lewd, guttural groans with every lick and stroke. He sucked and fisted the spit-soaked length until Sam writhed at the edge of completion, then pulled off, giving him a warning squeeze at the base, a passing caress over the dripping head, before letting go completely.

Blood racing, his own cock throbbing in his trousers, Gene interrupted Sam’s protests by slapping his wet hand over his lips. ‘Lick,’ he ordered, shoving two fingers into Sam’s mouth as soon as he opened to obey. ‘That’s you, all over my hand… that’s it, lick it all up, get it good and wet…’ Keeping his eyes glued to Sam’s lips, the sinful pink tip of his tongue, Gene reached down with his free left hand and fumbled his own trousers open. ‘There’s my good boy… good little slut…’

Reluctance warring with urgency, Gene dragged his hand away from Sam’s mouth, trailing damp fingertips from chin to sternum to navel to cock, teasing out yet more pre-come before wrapping his hand around his own erection, shuffling in closer as he started to jerk himself off. From this close, the head of his dick brushed up against Sam’s balls at each downward stroke, teasing off the sweating flesh and making Sam buck impatiently towards him.

‘Oh, no, not yet.’ He planted a hand flat on Sam’s abdomen, forcing him nearly flat to the floor save for his cuffed hands keeping his torso tantalizingly arched. Gene pumped himself faster, admiring the view of his gorgeous, helpless but undeniably indignant DI spread out beneath him. ‘Need one more thing from you before I let you come…’

‘Yeah?’ Narrowed eyes dropping down to watch Gene stroking his cock, Sam licked his lips before speaking. ‘I could suck you off,’ he suggested in a raspy hush that nearly made Gene explode into his hand. He bit back a groan, took a breath before replying.

‘The hell you will,’ he said. ‘Though I’ll be collecting on that later, you dirty tart.’ Gene steadied his cock in his fist, drew its tip up the underside of Sam’s bobbing length, making him groan and squeeze his eyes shut. ‘Who do you belong to?’

‘What?’ Sam blinked up at him dazedly.

‘You heard me.’ The slick of Sam’s copious pre-come against his own erection was addictive; he brushed them together again, stifling his own deep groan. ‘Told you I’d make you scream it before I was done with you.’

Comprehension crept slowly across Sam’s face. ‘Gene…’

‘Say it.’ Impatience drove fast upon Gene’s lust, made him draw abruptly away and resume masturbating with defiant fervour. ‘You know I own that hot, tight arse of yours,’ he growled, arousal climbing fast up his spine, ‘but I’m gonna damn well hear you say it out loud.’

Beneath the delicious blush climbing his sinuous neck to his face, Sam visibly hardened. ‘What about you?’ he challenged.

‘What about me?’ Gene shot back between panting breaths.

‘Are you mine?’

His eyes flared wider, greedily taking in the haphazard mess of Sam splayed half-clad beneath him, the sweat of his skin and the dare in his eyes. ‘Goddamn, yes,’ he gasped.

‘Good.’ Sam smiled, heated and slow. ‘You gonna come, Gene?’

‘ _Fuck_ ,’ he growled, spine curling and balls aching, so close… ‘Sam…’

‘I’m yours.’ The words were an undertow beneath the sound of blood rushing through Gene’s ears, dragging him under. ‘All yours… come on, prove it… come all over me… _yes_ …’

Even through the shattering wave of his orgasm, Gene forced his eyes to remain open, watching and groaning as his release spattered thick over Sam’s body, the majority puddling where he had aimed at his erect cock and tensed balls. He hummed deeply as Sam visibly twitched beneath the viscous mess, reached out to rub his semen obscenely over his genitals just as soon as his own spasms had subsided.

‘Jesus,’ Sam moaned, rolling desperately into the touch as his eyes fluttered shut, the distant click of wrists straining against handcuffs restoring Gene’s intoxicating sense of control. He chuckled darkly, fondling his prize with both hands.

‘You should see yourself,’ he said, relishing the easy slip of Sam’s hard cock through his sloppy fingers. ‘Pretty little thing with half your clothes ripped off, tied up and getting off on my spunk dripping all over your todger… like you been used real rough but still gagging for more…’ Gene elbowed Sam’s shaking thighs wider apart, found a rhythm of stroking and squeezing that set him writhing into his come-soaked fist. ‘Bet you’re gonna come so hard I’ll have enough jizz here to finger-fuck your arse open and still leave you sopping wet…’

As Sam cried out and came into his hand, Gene smugly noted that he wasn’t far off. He licked away a stray droplet where it hit the corner of his mouth, greedily eyeballing every other pearlescent trace that further coated Sam’s belly and chest before bowing his head to clean up a few choice spots with broad swipes of his tongue.

‘Knew you were mine,’ he announced, placing a last possessive bite over the angry red bruise rising on his hipbone.

‘Didn’t make me scream it though,’ Sam pointed out hoarsely, contrary to the last and grinning lazily as he rolled aside to give Gene access to his chained wrists. He huffed indignantly, gave Sam a swat to his still-bared arse before fishing out his keys from his trousers pocket and fiddling the lock open.

‘Don’t speak too soon, Sammy-boy,’ he warned. ‘Just you wait ‘til I get you home.’

‘Right.’ Disbelief playing both heavy and light in his voice, Sam rolled upright, stretching his arms out with a brief wince of discomfort. ‘Yours or mine tonight?’ he asked absently, examining his reddened wrists and missing Gene’s sudden and sour frown. _Yours or mine_ was another part of their routine, but unlike drives into work or gropes in the lift, the question stung with a bitter aftertaste and Gene was bloody sick of it.

‘How about ours?’

Sam looked up sharply.

‘What the hell does that mean?’

‘Well.’ He shrugged as best he could, casual as anything, but found he couldn’t face up to the tight scrutiny in Sam’s eyes when he spoke. ‘Okay, by “ours” I mean my place because there’s no way there’s room enough for the both of us in your poxy little shithole, let alone a good spot for my favourite chair for watching telly and I am _not_ giving up my chair.’

‘Your chair?’ Sam sputtered. ‘Gene, what are you even…’ His question trailed off and Gene held his breath, silent enough to hear Sam’s busy brain fit it all together. ‘You asking me to move in with you?’

‘And you call yourself a detective,’ he retorted gruffly.

‘Gene.’ Warm fingers caught his chin in a firm grip, forced his gaze back up into Sam’s solemn face. ‘Is that what you meant? Is that what you want?’

‘What, you warming my bed at night and sticking around to do me up a nice fry-up in the morning?’ he retorted lightly. ‘What’s not to want there?’

Eyes dark and intent, Sam stared into him, soundless lips slightly parted before they stretched into a blinding grin that took Gene’s breath away long before Sam launched forward and took his mouth in a searing kiss. Gene grunted in surprise, instinctively reaching up to steady Sam as he climbed into Gene’s lap, sucking hard on his tongue and rubbing up against him, clinging tight enough that Gene began to feel something damp seep into his shirt.

‘Oy, gerroff already, you filthy thing,’ he muttered, pushing with hands clenched around Sam’s waist, holding too tight to lose him completely.  
‘You’re bloody disgusting, you are.’

‘Don’t care.’ Sam skillfully squirmed his way back into the heat of Gene’s body, threading fingers through his sweat-damp hair and kissing his brow and getting unseemly stains all over his shirt. ‘I’m not going anywhere, Gene.’

‘Aren’t I bloody lucky, then,’ he groaned sarcastically – though if he was being honest, he meant every word.


End file.
